Schroeder's Muse
by happybeethovenday
Summary: Hit in the head with a baseball, Schroeder finds himself in a wonderful world. But is it real?


'**Lo! The conq'ring Schroeder comes!**

**A PEANUTS fanfic**

The bottom of the ninth, and they were down 57 to zero. Unsurprising, yes. Unexpected, not at all. It was a hazard of playing on Charlie Brown's baseball team – one had to be accustomed to loss.

Yes sir, if there are any things in this life which are certain, besides death and taxes, fairly high on the list must be the fact that Charlie Brown's baseball team would never win a game. Or, so Schroeder thought.

As absorbed in his own thoughts as he was, Schroeder failed to notice the baseball speeding straight at him. What he did notice, however, was the whack of its impact, and the sudden blackness.

A groan escaped his lips as he blearily opened his eyes. The young blonde lay on a very uncomfortable couch in a very messy room. It wasn't messy like one would expect of a child, but just gave an aura of sheer disorganization. Gigantic stacks of paper teetered ominously on a table, surrounded by dirty dishes. Books lay hither and thither across the floor, some with ink stains on the covers. A wool overcoat lay abandoned over a chair in the corner, its brass buttons shining dimly.

From the next room, Schroeder head an unfamiliar voice shouting loudly.

"You may tell his grace that I do **NOT** work for less than 100. His budgets are no concern of mine!" With that, a door slammed, and footsteps made their way towards the door into the room where Schroeder had, by now, sat up on the couch. The door banged open, and the young boy's eyes grew as wide as dinner plates.

"You're awake, I see?" The man asked. His auburn and blackish-gray hair lay wildly atop his head, partially shielding a pudgy face with piercing dark eyes from view. A prominent nose lay above a rather deep set scowl. Schroeder averted his eyes from the man as one would look away from the face of god.

"Yes, sir."

"Look at me when you speak, boy!" Ludwig van Beethoven roared angrily, causing the windows of the room to rattle in their frames.

"I said 'yes, sir."' Schroeder announced meekly, looking into the dark eyes of his hero, his idol. He knew from the many biographies of the ill-tempered composer that he had read during his nine years on this earth that, as Beethoven's hearing had degenerated, he had commanded any and all who spoke to him to look him directly in the eyes. Schroeder could, therefore, deduce that he had arrived during the Composer's twilight years.

"Good then. I found you outside the city, and had some of my friends bring you here to rest for a bit." Beethoven crossed to a piano that Schroeder had not even noticed before, and sat behind it. "Now, what is your name, my young friend?" Beethoven asked, grabbing a sheet of paper, and a pen, and quickly making a notation on the paper.

"Schroeder, Herr Beethoven, sir." The blonde stood from the couch, and walked towards Beethoven.

"You know of me? How charming. I didn't have you pegged for a Viennese aristocrat." Beethoven spat the word 'aristocrat' as though it burned his tongue, and jotted a couple more notes onto the paper.

"I'm not a noble, sir. I am just a great admirer of your works, Herr Beethoven."

"Such as?" The composer asked bemusedly, lowering the paper back onto the top of the piano.

"The _Große Sonate für das Hammerklavier, _for one, sir. I also greatly enjoy _Eroica _and _The Moonlight Sonata_, Herr Beethoven." Schroeder noticed the composer's eyebrow had arched upward.

"Hammerklavier, you say?" Beethoven probed bemusedly. "Let's hear it then!" The composer stood from the piano, gesturing to Schroeder to sit, which the blonde did obligingly, resting his fingers on the polished piano keys. He swallowed nervously, and thundered into the mighty opening. Every now and again, Schroeder looked at Beethoven, seeing the composer resting his ear against the piano, his eyes closed, and his right hand moving, as if conducting. After several minutes, Beethoven straightened, and gestured for Schroeder to stop.

"Marvelously done, Schroeder. Not one note missed, from what I could tell, and without the music infront of you. I don't think even I could accomplish that." Schroeder felt his heart swell as Beethoven himself praised his playing. Then…

Schroeder jerked awake, back on the baseball field, to see the faces of Charlie Brown's team standing over him.

"Are you alright, Schroeder? You've been out for a couple minutes." Linus van Pelt probed concernedly.

**"RATS!"** Schroeder screamed, standing suddenly, and sending his teammates reeling backwards in alarm. The purple-shirted catcher stormed off the field, and into his house, to his toy piano, where he began pounding out _Fur Elise _on his piano, tears streaming down his face.

It had all been a dream.


End file.
